From clouds which in the head appear; To overflowings of the heart below. COWLEY. The Lover supposes his Lady acquainted with the ancient laws of augury and rites of sacrifice: And yet this death of mine, I fear, Will ominous to her appear: Her sacrifice is found without an heart, Shall sigh out that too, with my breath. That the chaos was harmonized, has been recited of old; but whence the different sounds arose remained for a modern to discover: Th' ungovern'd parts no correspondence knew; An artless war from thwarting motions grew; Till they to number and fixt rules were brought. Water and air he for the Tenor chose, Earth made the Bass; the Treble, flame arose. *COWLEY. The tears of lovers are always of great poetical account; but Donne has extended them into worlds. If the lines are not easily understood, they may be read again. On a round ball A workman, that hath copies by, can lay And quickly make that which was nothing all. Which thee doth wear, A globe, yea world, by that impression grow, This world, by waters sent from thee my heaven dissolved so. On reading the following lines, the reader may perhaps cry out-Confusion worse confounded: Here lies a she sun, and a he moon here, They unto one another nothing owe. DONNE. Who but Donne would have thought that a good man is a telescope? Though God be our true glass through which we see All, since the being of all things is he; Who would imagine it possible that in a very few lines so many remote ideas could be brought together? Since 'tis my doom, Love's undershrieve, Why doth my she advowson fly Incumbency? To sell thyself dost thou intend And hold the contrast thus in doubt, Think but how soon the market fails, And if to measure age's span, The sober Julian were th' account of man, CLEIVELAND. Of enormous and disgusting hyperboles, these may be examples: C By every wind that comes this way, Send me at least a sigh or two, Such and so many I'll repay As shall themselves make wings to get to you. In tears I'll waste these eyes, COWLEY. By Love so vainly fed; So lust of old the Deluge punished. COWLEY. All arm'd in brass, the richest dress of war, An universal consternation: His bloody eyes he hurls round, his sharp paws Tear up the ground: then runs he wild about, Lashing his angry tail, and roaring out. Beasts creep into their dens, and tremble there; Trees, though no wind is stirring, shake with fear; Silence and horror fill the place around; Echo itself dares scarce repeat the sound. COWLEY. Their fictions were often violent and unnatural. Of his Mistress bathing. The fish around her crowded, as they do As she at first took me : For ne'er did light so clear Among the waves appear, Though every night the sun himself set there. COWLEY. The poetical Effect of a Lover's Name upon Glass. My name engrav'd herein Doth contribute my firmness to this glass; Which, ever since that charm, hath been As hard as that which grav'd it was. DONNE. Their conceits were sentiments slight and tri fling. On an inconstant Woman. He enjoys the calmy sunshine now, He sees thee gentle, fair, and gay, And trusts the faithless April of thy May. COWLEY. Upon a Paper written with the Juice of Lemon, and read by the Fire. Nothing yet in thee is seen, But when a genial heat warms thee within, Here spouts a V, and there a T, And all the flourishing letters stand in rows. COWLEY. As they sought only for novelty, they did not much inquire whether their allusions were to things high or low, elegant or gross: whether they compared the little to the great, or the great to the little. Physic and Chirurgery for a Lover. The wound, which you yourself have made; For I too weak of purgings grow. COWLEY. The World and a Clock. Mahol th' inferior world's fantastic face Through all the turns of matter's maze did trace; Made up the whole again of every part. COWLEY. A coal-pit has not often found its poet; but, that it may not want its due honour, Cleiveland has paralleled it with the Sun: The moderate value of our guiltless ore Makes no man atheist, and no woman whore; Had he our pits, the Persian would admire. The sun's Heaven's coalery, and coal's our sun. Death, a Voyage. No family E'er rigg'd a soul for Heaven's discovery, With whom more venturers might boldly dare Venture their stakes, with him in joy to share. DONNE. Their thoughts and expressions were sometimes grossly absurd, and such as no figures or license can reconcile to the understanding. |